Seven Scarlet Petticoats
by Working-On-Sanity
Summary: Jessie lost her favorite dress, and there existed nothing capable of calming the fury of a red-haired hurricane. Nothing, except for an equally beautiful dress from James's closet. Jessie never understood why James acted so upset with her all the time when it was her world that so often came crashing down. She didn't realize that she did the same to his. Jessie/James.


**Note: **I really don't know whether "Five Flavors of Fancy," "Six Shades of Blond," and this go together. I don't think anything could prevent them from taking place in the same universe. Maybe I can expand this into a miniseries!

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"It's gotta be in here." Jessie bent over her suitcase, clawing through the piles of clothes. Expensive cashmere sweaters and thin silk blouses flew from beneath her raking fingers, hurtling through the air to land in crumpled heaps on the floor. Finally, Jessie grasped the corners of the suitcase and lifted it high above her head. The remaining clothes dropped out in wads, plopping down to be trampled and forgotten.

"It's gotta be in here. It's _gotta._" Shock bled through the cracks in the ice of Jessie's eyes. She glanced around, desperately wondering where else she could search. Open drawers drooled slips and pantyhose onto the floor. The closet door pressed flush against the wall where she had slammed it in frustration. Cracks webbed out from the crater the doorknob had made in the plaster. Jessie didn't care.

She crouched on the floor, bending low to peer beneath the bed. Clods of dust huddled in little cliques. A faded magazine was spread, its pages open to a photograph of a wrestler with bulging biceps and a chiseled stomach. Any other time Jessie would have snatched the magazine for a closer look as well as to inspect for any traces of slobber, but curiosity couldn't breach her panic.

"Jess?"

Jessie tightened her shoulders and gritted her teeth until they ached. She had no time to listen to James's whiny voice. No. She had more important things to do. Ignoring him, she crawled to peek beneath the nightstand. The rubber of her boots squeaked loudly.

"Jessie, dear," James said, "_do _stop grubbing around like that. It isn't becoming."

And the instant James's mouth closed off the sentence, Jessie's control crumbled. With a muffled shout, she lunged for him, her hair shooting behind her like the flame behind a meteor. She wrapped her fists in James's collar, digging her thumbs into his shoulders, and jerked him closer. James yelped, scratching at the air for balance before falling loosely into Jessie's grip. His knees bent without his consent, and he dangled limply by his collar. Fear made him clamp his teeth into his tongue and wait for Jessie to explain the reason behind her attack.

"My dress," Jessie said, squeezing the words out of the side of her mouth. Her voice quivered with suppressed rage. "Where on God's green earth did you put my yellow dress."

James's eyes widened, gold crackling in the green. "What? Jessie, whatever would make you think _I _stole your dress?"

Jessie glared. Her lips twitched. The corner of her mouth tipped upward, and her cheeks bulged and her eyes shut before a harsh laugh broke loose. When she opened her eyes, they were chunks of frozen crystal.

"That's funny, James. That is really funny. Why ever _would _I accuse you? It seems to me that I recall you slinking around here rooting through my closet several times. And oh!" Sarcasm oozed from her voice. "Aren't you the one who likes wearing those ridiculous flouncy things? Yeah. Why did I even bother asking?"

"You know I wouldn't snitch those hideous raggedy clothes," James said, wrapping his hands around Jessie's wrists to pry her fingers from his throat. When Jessie leered closer, James shrank back and said quietly, "Well, I wouldn't snitch without asking first."

Jessie shook her head and breathed a puffy laugh of disgust through her nose. She extended her arms, opening her fists to release James's collar. He sank to the floor in hurt confusion, watching while Jessie stormed around the room. Every step seemed to shoot more anger to Jessie's head, anger that dulled her senses and made her stomp about, muttering curses and death wishes on James and all his kin.

She knelt to bang a drawer shut, and the pantyhose caught on the corner. She tore them loose and flung them with all her strength at James. The hose draped over his head, one wrinkled sheer leg dangling over his face and fluttering in the breeze Jessie made. He blinked, and the hot indignation in his eyes melted over his lashes. His lips bent down in an uncertain frown.

"Jess?" he said. There was an ugly crack in his voice. His shoulders drew up in a flinch, but he relaxed and once more turned his apologetic gaze to Jessie.

"Go choke on your lipstick, James," Jessie said brightly. "And while you're at it, why not crawl back under the rock you slithered from?"

James dug his teeth into his bottom lip with a giggle. He didn't mean to laugh––he knew Jessie didn't joke when she was angry. But when he laughed, his cheeks tingled and the tears blurred his eyes further. He snuffled without thinking.

"For the sake of all humanity, James, grow a _spine._ How are you going to make it through life if you start crying over stupid little things? You'd bawl over a split toenail."

James wrapped his arms around his legs, folding them against his chest, and pressed his forehead against his knees. He laughed uncontrollably, his chest jerking spasmodically and his shoulders bouncing. He felt his face grow painfully hot with sticky tears.

"I––I––I'm sorry about your dress," he said, mincing the words through his sobs and giggles. He gulped back either a laugh or a sob and rubbed his palms over his cheeks. They stung from the friction, but he swore he would keep any further whining to himself.

Half hidden in the closet, Jessie said, "Sorry? Oh, yes. Yes, Jamie, _every_one knows how absolutely sorry you are." The sarcasm was rich as fudge on her lilting voice.

A shiver prickled along James's scalp. For some reason, whenever Jessie smiled with her lips peeled back and her teeth clenched to hold in a jibe, he became frightened. Jessie only smiled in that way when she was absolutely furious. James felt like a mouse in front of a grinning snake. He could only stare at Jessie, dazed and captivated though he knew horrible danger was only an arm's length away.

On impulse, driven by a strength that wasn't his, James blurted, "You can have my dress, deary."

Jessie froze. Slowly, so slowly that her knees creaked, she leaned out of the closet. A frown ran between her lowered eyebrows.

"What did you say?"

James lowered his head, his eyes flickering nervously. He smoothed away the strand of hair that curled over his forehead. When Jessie bristled with impatience, he looked up at her.

"My . . . uh, my red dress." He fidgeted. Why did he feel embarrassed? "You know . . . the one . . . the one with the crinkly satin and the, um, the petticoats, and the little bows and––"

He stopped abruptly. His throat was tight and the words piled up inside, mixing up and getting tangled. He chewed his tongue hard enough to numb it, squeezing his fists against his knees to distract himself from Jessie's startled gaze.

Just when James's pulse pounded in his ears and blood rushed to his face so quickly that he grew dizzy, Jessie snapped up her head. The scowl faded, leaving only slight dents on her brow.

"That's your favorite dress, isn't it?"

James chewed on his thumbnail, picking at the manicured edge with his teeth. He lowered his hand and tucked it between his thighs. A long sigh, rusty and thin, whistled past his lips.

"I don't get many chances to wear it," he said. "It'll be eaten to shreds by moths and the lace will yellow before long." His eyelids drooped, his lashes glittering. "It will look lovely on you."

"It will, won't it." Jessie clasped her hands, imagining herself cloaked in the crinkly satin with glossy ribbons tied jauntily about her waist. "I look drop-dead _gorgeous _in red, don't I?"

She spun around on her toe, practically feeling the swish of the long skirts around her legs and hearing the rustle of lace. She spread her hands by her hips and struck a pose, throwing back her head until her hair snaked in a red coil down her back and hiking up her leg until her miniskirt stretched tight over her thighs. Her chest shook with suppressed laughter, and she flung her arms around herself and squeezed. Like a vapor, her foul mood faded. She began twirling around the room in a blissful reverie, closing drawers and sweeping up the scattered clothes.

At the sound of Jessie's laughter, James smiled ruefully. He caught the edge of his sleeve between his fingers and swabbed his face. His cheeks itched with embarrassment, tingling red. Vaguely, he wondered if he should leave, or wait for Jessie to thank him.

_I'd have to wait a horrific long time, _he thought, and his anger at Jessie's behavior swept over him like an ice-cold wave, knocking his breath from his throat and making his pulse thunder in his temples. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. His fists clenched on his lap until his knuckles cracked. Jessie's stiletto heels clacked when she turned around.

"What's eating you?" Jessie's eyebrow quirked, her lips in a pouty little circle of innocence. When James snapped up his head to look at her, Jessie froze, her arms going stiff at her sides. For an instant, she looked offended, but recovered. The hurt ebbed from her eyes to leave in its place little sparkles of mischievousness.

Coyly, Jessie glanced down, smoothing her hand behind her neck to grab her hair. She pulled it over her shoulder, and slowly began twisting it.

"Oh, James, you can't be mad at me, can you?" She blinked until her eyes dimmed, and she stared down at James through her dark lashes. James stared back. Lines cut deep into his forehead.

"Don't play that with me, Jess," he said, clenching his teeth and digging his fingers into his legs. "You know it won't work."

With all the lithe grace of a rutting cat, Jessie lowered to the floor on her knees, twisted, and sank as delicately as a rose petal onto James's lap. She raised her arms high above her head, arching her back until her chest squashed against James's.

"Jessie!" James sucked in a gasp and locked his arms against his sides, his fists balled like rocks. Jessie's backside pressed heavily against his lap when she shifted. James pressed his tongue against the ridges of his teeth, his eyes screwing shut. He implored himself not to look down at the way Jessie's skirt stretched taut over her thighs.

"Jessie, don't," James begged, craning his neck away from Jessie. "_Don't _act so."

A foxy smile hiked up Jessie's face, curving her cheeks. Nothing––_nothing _warmed her as much as flaunting her control. Knowing that she could bring a man––even a man like James––crashing to his knees gave Jessie the greatest satisfaction.

"Oh, James," Jessie murmured, her voice sultry and rich as caramel. Her hands gripped his elbows, squeezing, before sliding firmly up his arms to perch on his skinny shoulders. Her fingers played delicately with the hair that fell over his neck. She held his gaze with subdued willingness in her soft eyes, but behind the soft light loomed the jagged icebergs of deceit.

James saw that ice, and a chill raked its crusty claws down his spine. He shuddered when Jessie's hands wrapped deeper into his satiny hair. Her nails rolled over his scalp, leaving a pleasant tickle. James shut his eyes and gnawed on his tongue, which felt as useless as a chunk of leather in his mouth.

Jessie skated her hand from behind his neck, down his cheek, to cup his chin. Her thumb pressed into his jaw, causing a white mark to fan over his skin. He stared hollowly into her eyes.

"Jamie, darling, don't you have something you want to say to me?" She spoke as huskily as if she were tangled in a bed.

James gaped. His lips squished under Jessie's fingers. "S––say?"

Her hand squeezed his chin more tightly. She pulled him closer. Her eyes looked like crystal moons, half hidden under drooping lids. Slowly, she moved her face until her lips brushed the cool lobe of James's ear. Waxy lipstick smeared the skin.

"Nobody holds a grudge against me, darling," she murmured. Her cold breath stirred James's bangs, making them wisp against his cheeks. A groan swelled up his throat, but broke into a whimper halfway.

"Are you still angry with me?" Jessie said.

James's expression lit with surprise, but scrunched back into a sulk. The blotchy red on his cheeks spoiled the effect.

"You can't always expect people to dismiss your nastiness without a thought, Jessie. You do treat me rather ba––"

With all her strength, Jessie bore down on James's lap, cramming herself as deep into his thighs as she could. James squawked, his hands shooting forward to grab at Jessie's shoulders, shoving her back. Blood rushed to his face in torrents, dyeing his skin a red so deep that it looked purple.

"Do you want to say something now?" Jessie said casually, her arms still hooked around his neck, her legs straddling his scrawny hips.

"I––I––I'm sorry, Jessie. Okay? Does that make you happy? I'm so, so sorry." Wrinkles lumped beneath James's bottom lip, and his eyes glazed. He looked down at his hands before Jessie saw him cry like a lonely child.

"You're sorry?" Jessie said quietly. Her snakelike smile returned. "I forgive you, then."

As if somebody had snapped his fingers, the somber mood lifted. Jessie rolled her palms up James's neck to squeeze his cheeks and drew him forward to press an open-mouthed kiss against his lips. Her tongue swiped the front of his teeth, and before James could reel away, she leaned back. Their lips separated with a moist, sticky smack.

Daintily, Jessie smoothed her fingertip along the contour of her lips to smear away any stray traces of lipstick. She looked as calm and nonchalant as if she were discussing the weather. James wished he could have escaped the situation with the grace of a model. His face was mottled like a beet, and chunks of hair tufted in all directions.

"Well, all in all, it's nice to know that _some_ men have brains enough to apologize for being idiots," Jessie said. Having disposed of that, she swung her legs off James's lap and stood, folding her arms behind her head to stretch. She strutted to the closet, hands on her hips, and surveyed its interior.

"Now," she mused, "about that red dress . . . ."

* * *

**Note: **This is so weird. This is weird. So weird. I don't ship Rocketshipping at all, yet I can write smoochy lovey-dovey ooey-gooey scenes for it easier than I can with any of my most beloved pairings. This is so nasty. I'm groping for a logical explanation here, and all I can rake up is that virtually no emotions ride on this ship for me. Like, for all my other beloved ships, I feel that any romance has to be honed to perfection to do them justice, and what I write is a mess of my disgusting emotions until I have no idea what to do with myself. But for Rocketshipping . . . I just don't have any emotions or hope invested in a romantic relationship between them, and somehow, that breaks down any barriers that prevent me from letting loose. I guess I'm writing these more for fun than to satiate my nasty fangirl emotions.

Also, I see Jessie and James's relationship in a strange light. Friends with added benefits offered by one party merely because he knows what the other party wants and he cares about her, even if not about her smoochy lips.


End file.
